#saintsdawn ▎florence cretu.

[griefology]

“ I think we’re all a little cursed. ” The comment comes without warning. It cuts through the silence of camp like a knife. The cleric to ask it is unfazed; her hands sways lazily, playing with the flames of the fire. “ We have to be, don’t you think ? How else would we find ourselves in a mess like this ? ” Her eyes drift to where Nym rests, but her hand continues its motions. “ Or we have the worst luck imaginable. ” / @saintsdawn

the shadow sorcerer snorts, her eyes following the way florence plays with the fire, the way the flames fan into the air. she can see the crackle of fire dance and disappear into the night sky, and there's a small peace to it. ❝ cursed ? ❞ she repeats as if mulling the word over, tasting how it settles on her tongue.

❝ it feels ————— fitting. ❞ nym finally gives after moment's pause. ❝ though i've always felt a little cursed. a little [ . . . ] unlucky. so it feels normal to me. ❞ a shrug of her shoulders. nym does not yet remove her mask for the night. it covers her nose, her mouth. ❝ what curses you, then ? broke any mirrors in the last hundred moons ? ❞